


And Then There Was Us

by persxphone



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anorexia, Borderline Personality Disorder, Child Abuse, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persxphone/pseuds/persxphone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was an accident, just like it had always been, from the very beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You don't mean to let your guard down like that, no matter what he says to the contrary. You've seen this movie so many times, you can recite it word for word, and as much as you love it, it's no longer very interesting. It's not your fault that you've never been able to sleep at night, and that the problem has only gotten worse after... after everything that's happened. So you definitely, definitely don't mean for it to happen when your head starts nodding and your eyes slip closed, never intended to end up curled against his arm, head tucked against his shoulder. You don't think about how, for once, your dreams are a little less vibrant, a little less violent against the back of your eyelids.

What you do think about, is how he's still there later when you wake up, his expression hidden behind those ridiculous, reflective shades. You notice that the movie, which he was hardly watching to begin with, is back to the menu screen, and that Kanaya, Rose, Terezi, and Vriska have all since cleared the area. He's fiddling with his phone, tilting it this way and that with one hand, when it seems it would be much more effective for him to use both. His other arm, however, is pinned beneath you. Why didn't he move it?

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he quips, and you immediately sit upright.

"I'll pass," you bite out instinctively, scooting away from him -- _not_ regretfully. "Guess I, uh, fell asleep."

"Yep." He rolls his shoulder, almost pointedly, and his left hand joins the right to tap idly at the device's screen.

Silence descends before you venture, "How long was I out?"

"Twelve hours-"

"You lying sack of hoofbeast waste."

His laughter can better be described as a cackle, erupting from his mouth in a cacophony and stinging your ears. You hiss audibly and jump from the couch, intent on storming away to your respiteblock, but he stops you:

"It was only a couple hours, Kitkat, calm down."

"Why didn't you move? Why didn't you wake me up?" Accusatory. Your heart is hammering in your chest and it's hard to breathe and all you want to do is get _away_ from this asshole, away from his ignorance.

"You looked comfortable."

You leave without another word, footsteps heavy and purposeful, fists clenching and unclenching in a desperate attempt to keep your fury in check. Your _anxiety_.

It shouldn't have happened.

* * *

You have no idea what you did wrong this time, all you know is the little hisses and clicks Karkat makes in the back of his throat leave you feeling guilty. Suddenly the room is too big, the couch too small, and Fruit Ninja doesn't hold the same appeal it did when he was sleeping against your shoulder, his breathing slow and even, eyelashes casting long shadows over his ashen cheeks. You pick yourself up from the couch, stab the power button on the television, and pick any direction but the one he went off in.

_Striders don't apologize_. You've been taught never to back down from the moment you were created. But even if you were going to apologize -- which you _weren't_ \-- you wouldn't know what for. Karkat was always taking everything too personally, always getting pissed off at any little thing you do. And the worst part is that you don't think it's part of that calligin-whatever crap the trolls keep going on about. It's something else. Something more complicated. Because when it comes to Karkat, everything is always so. damn. fucking. complicated.

Your feet take you down the winding corridors of the meteorite, swift even in their aimlessness. Something about him gets you wound up. Something about his stupid, scrawny little form, his bony limbs pressing into your side like the wings of a baby bird. Once, when you were a child, you rescued a crow from your rooftop. Its wing had broken, and you were so proud of yourself for calming it down enough that the avian allowed you to carry it inside in your bare hands. You patched its broken wing like Bro had taught you, using medical tape and Popsicle sticks, but when he found out- Bro had broken the pathetic thing's neck. Weakness wasn't tolerated in a Strider's household; no, _sir_. And when he caught you crying about it a few days later, he beat your sorry ass good and proper.

You were four years old and you should've known better.

Thinking about your brother sends a shiver down your neck and you glance hastily left and right, even though you know he can't possible be here, watching you, waiting for an opening. Heart racing, you think maybe it would be best to go visit the Mayor, just to check up on him, make sure he's okay and the clown hasn't escaped his refrigerated holding cell. Definitely not because you need a distraction from your own mind. Maybe you should start talking to Rose again. Even if it wasn't "real" therapy, per say, at least it was _something_.

You tell yourself you aren't rushing when you run to Can Town, that it has nothing to do with the ghost over your shoulder. You're just getting some much needed exercise.


	2. Chapter 2

Breathe in, two, three... Breathe out, two, three... Just like Rose taught you. Feel the beats between each breath. Let the tension bleed from your shoulders- _Crimson covers the floor, covers you, covers the walls. Red used to be your favorite color._ You don't think this meditation thing is working. You try to bring yourself back to the breath, but only succeed in snapping your green crayon in half. The Mayor runs over, waving his little arms in distress, but you can tell he's more worried about you than the crayon. "It's all good, man," you urge, "no need to worry. Just zoned out there for a moment." His pinprick eyes narrow slightly, and you know he's not about to let you get away without sharing something.

"Karkat's mad at me again," you say instead of what's really bothering you, what's put the ice in your lungs. Not that it isn't bothering you, but being bothered by Karkat is safe ground, a trail that's been tread many times before.

The Mayor tips his head: _Why?_

You shrug and look away, taking up one half of the crayon and carefully removing its paper wrapping. "I dunno," you mumble, stubborn and resolute. Using the side of the crayon, you continue to shade in Can Town Hall's lawn. "He fell asleep and got mad at me for not waking him up. Which is fucking stupid. He doesn't get enough sleep in the first place, so why would he be mad at me for that?" You glance sidelong at the Mayor, unnerved by how still he's become. "What?" you ask, feeling like a child who's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Is it some weird fucking troll thing? It's a fucking troll thing, isn't it? Does it have to do with those stupid quadrants Karks is always screeching about?"

The Mayor holds up a hand: _Wait._

You sigh and go back to coloring, letting him think, using a little more force than is strictly necessary. He takes the other half of the crayon and joins you with smoother, far less violent strokes. Finally, he sits back. You glance up, force yourself to let out the breath you've been holding. "So?" you prompt. "What line did I cross?"

 He holds up both hands: _Stay._

Annoyed, you lean back and watch him scurry away on his little legs, see him hesitate at the edge of Can Town's limit, then go racing down the hall and out of sight. You resist the urge to chase after him, try not to think about how dangerous this meteor can be. He'll be back soon.

You go back to your coloring.

* * *

Your respiteblock has been deemed _restricted access only_ , but somehow the outside world manages to find its way in. It starts as a skittering in the vents that sets your blood boiling and stands your hair on end, until the Mayor is carefully pulling away a grate and peering cautiously down at you. If he's here, it probably has something to do with Dave Fucking Strider, and you're too exhausted to be dealing with that quite yet.

"Fuck off," you spit, with your customary force. To punctuate the point, you sink further into your bullshit recuperacoon, effectively shutting him out. Honestly, you feel a little bad for getting mad at him, but you brush it off. You'll just chew yourself out for it later.

 _Tap, tap, tap_.

You surface, two luminescent eyes above the green sludge meant to lull you into a restful state. The Mayor has pulled your desk chair closer to peer over the recuperacoon's lip. "I said to go away," you reiterate, _firmly_. He doesn't budge. "I don't want to talk about Dave," you add, _grudgingly_. The Mayor leans back. "Of course you're here to talk about Dave!" you find yourself snapping, standing up fully and lifting your shoulders above the sopor line. "He always goes to Can Town when he's in a bad mood! Not that I know he's in one. Or care." Nice. Really smooth. Good recovery, too. "Besides," you finish, "I don't have anything to apologize for. You made the trip here for nothing."

The Mayor crosses his arms, unwilling to put up with your bullshit today, and glances pointedly at your recuperacoon. You know, the one you _don't_ actually get any sleep in. All the other trolls have adjusted to sleeping in piles, yet you insist on trying to make this useless contraption work. You don't like to admit that you're still holding out hope that maybe, just maybe, you'll eventually get the recipe to alchemize sopor slime properly, and effectively take the edge off of the vibrant nightmares you experience so frequently. You ignore the fact that, even when you were on Alternia, the slime did little to nothing to help you get better sleep in the first place -- and that was _before_ you got all your friends killed and failed your moirail in every conceivable way.

A few moments pass in silence before you release a loud breath and yell, "Alright! Fine! I slept! On Dave! Fuck off already!" You and the Mayor both know it's not that simple. You let your guard down. Dave could've killed you; or worse. Any _troll_ would've taken the opportunity. But he didn't. "I..." you stutter, softly. The Mayor rests a tiny hand upon your cheek. "Yeah, okay," you mutter. "Lead the way."

 


	3. Chapter 3

> YOUR NAME IS **DAVE STRIDER** AND YOU MISS YOUR BROTHER.

"Idiot," you whisper, unable - or maybe just unwilling - to keep your thoughts locked up inside your head; even if talking to yourself is a sure sign you're actually insane. "Fuck is wrong with you? Always making things worse. Just shut your fucking mouth, mind your own fucking business." Your crayon reduced to a measly stub, you reach for the Mayor's abandoned one. "You're always fucking up," you continue. "Didn't Bro tell you to get your shit together? That's why he left, 'cause you failed the fucking test in a goddamn, mother fucking _blaze_ of glory." You pause, sit back on your knees. Maybe that analogy was a little too accurate, what with the fact that you  _literally blew up the Earth_. Spec-fucking-tacular.

Striders were stoic, solitary. You can only remember a handful of times when you ever actually heard Bro speak, much less _to_ you. Growing up, you had to figure things out based on convoluted clues he would leave for you; not that you were very good at it. Mostly, you learned from your mistakes, driven first by an intense need to please, and later by a desire for revenge. Anger never worked in your favor, though. It took your brother walking out on you for any of his lessons to actually sink in, and by then it was too late.

John, Jade, and Rose were never meant to be in your life. Bro had strict rules about associating with anyone who wasn't a Strider. The first time he caught you, he reprimanded you. The second time, he smashed your phone. The third time, your computer. It goes without saying that he beat you, too. That was when you learned now to make electronics, to replace what you'd lost. Your phone might've been cracked to shit, and your computer might've been a total fire hazard, but they'd _worked_. Your friends were the one thing you'd never been able to give up for him. Then they dragged you into that game and you realized: Bro was right. The rest of the world was a threat, and the only way to survive was to remove yourself from them.

But you were selfish, and you'd trapped yourself in this game with them. It was too. damn. late. And then more people were thrown into the equation and things got _complicated_. And that was when you realized that they weren't the problem, _you_ were. Because you weren't good enough, strong enough, fast enough, _capable_ enough. If you'd stopped being a coward and prevented the others from fucking up so royally, like a Strider was supposed to, then the trolls wouldn't have all died. Karkat wouldn't have that horrible look in his eyes.

"Idiot," you whisper again, then louder, "You fucking idiot!"

" _Hey_! Only I get to call you that."

 

> BE **KARKAT VANTAS**. PITY THE FOOL.

" _Hey_!" you snap again, marching across the cavernous space reserved for Can Town. "What the fuck is you-" You cut yourself off. Getting mad isn't exactly going to help. " _Why_ would you say that?" you try instead. Dave still seems to be in some sort of stupor, so you growl low in your throat and make a swipe for his shades. Dave knocks your hand aside, abruptly revived, and hastily gets to his feet.

"It's nothing, man," he dismisses, infuriatingly monotone. “Forget it.”

“And if I don’t want to?” you try, trying to keep the bite out of your words and failing. The Mayor wrings his hands from his vantage point a few meters away from the two of you; clearly uncomfortable with the way this is going. Evidently he wasn’t expecting things to escalate. You can’t help thinking he really should’ve known better.

“Dude, look, you’re making the Mayor uncomfortable. Stop making something out of nothing all the time.”

_That_ stings, and you know it shows despite your efforts to hide it. You physically recoil from his words, as if slapped, and take a step back. The urge to flee rises up, rearing its ugly head, a force to be reckoned with, but Dave’s arm flashes out, as if he intends to hold you there. Not that he has to touch you to do that: the crack in his exterior is enough to keep you firmly rooted to the spot.

“I…” he starts, then gives up and withdraws, tucking his chin into his chest and dropping his arm back to his side.

Apologies aren’t his thing, you figured that one out early on, and if Dave apologizes, it’s in the form of blaming himself; something you’re intimately familiar with. You’re just a lot more vocal about it.

“It’s okay,” you say, and then remember what Kanaya said about letting people get away with mistreating you. _When you say ‘It’s okay,’ you’re giving that person permission to hurt you again. You should say, ‘I forgive you,’ instead, at the very least._ You worry your lower lip. You’d rather have Dave hurt you than leave you alone entirely, and you’re scared being too firm will frighten him off. He’s more than a little skittish, you’ve found, and you just don’t have enough experience to be able to tell where the line is with him.

“Okay,” he complies, after a beat, shoulders relaxing a fraction.

“So.”

“So.”

Well, this was awkward.

“Why’d you get so mad?”

Your teeth flash and you feel a growl build in your throat. _None of your fucking business_ leaps to the tip of your tongue, but you swallow it back down with some difficulty. “Why’d you get so defensive?” you snap instead. Tit for tat, right?

“Touché.”

“What?”

“Touché. It’s French.”

“French?”

“It’s another human language.”

“Oh.” A stab of shame goes through you. You created humans, yet you understand nothing about them. You thought they all spoke English, and that that was the end of your troubles when it came to communicating with them. Then you’d learned about their nuances and colloquialisms and contractions and _fuck_ was that ever a headache. Now there was _French_ to figure out?

“Dude, it’s just a word, don’t worry about it.”

“What does it mean?” you ask, rubbing your forehead in an attempt to stop scowling.

“Uhhh, fuck, I dunno. It’s just something people say. I think it has to do with touching or something like that.”

“Why are we bringing touching into this? What does touching have to do with our argument?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, man, it’s just something you say!”

Silence descended, more awkward than the first time.

“I guess touching does have to do with this, though,” Dave says.

“What? Why?”

“I mean, you fell asleep _on top of me_. That’s touching. Does that mean I get to touch you now, and then we’re even?”

“What? No! _Fuck_ no, Strider, keep your pasty nubs the fuck away from me!”

“Aw, c’mon, Karkles, this is the only way for us to kiss and make up!”

“Ki- DAVE, _FUCK_ YOU!”

“Whoa, Kar-Kitty, you haven’t even taken me to dinner yet.”

“Fuck— _Fine_ , I tried to be the bigger person, but _fuck_ this. I’m out. Go back to skulking on your fucking own, then, you buldgemunching _fuck_.”

“Wait, no, Karkat, don’t go.”

“ _Why_ , Dave? There is absolutely no fucking point in me staying here. You clearly don’t want to talk, you just want to mock me and make me feel uncomfortable and confused and _fuck_ , I can’t deal with you playing with my feelings right now! So just _fuck off_ , won’t you?”

“I— Sorry, man, I was just trying—“

“It doesn’t matter what you were trying to do, Dave, just _stop_.”

Breathing hard, you stare him down at the portal to the hall until Dave steps back and lowers his gaze from yours, defeated. “Sorry,” he mumbles again, leaving you free to go.

You don’t. Seeing him so small pulls at something in you that you don’t want to address. You can’t handle this, can’t handle _him_. It’s not just today, either, it’s _every fucking day_ since the moment you met him. Dave just flips from one quadrant to the next, with no heed for social graces, then plays oblivious whenever you’ve tried to bring it up, or plays it off as some grand, cosmic joke. It’s not just infuriating – it _hurts_. One moment you’re black, then red, then pale, then flushed, then _who_ the fuck knows! It’s exhausting.

It’s also addicting.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

> YOU ARE **KARKAT VANTAS** AND YOU WILL GET AN ANSWER.

Dave turns to walk away and you grab him by the shoulder, twirl him around to face your much smaller form, now very much in his personal space. He’s all edges, just skin and bones, and you can feel how fragile they are. At the start of all this, you’re pretty sure that wasn’t the case. You seem to remember him being made of chorded muscle, carefully controlled strength. He might be half a foot taller than you, but you think you weigh more than he does now. You might even be stronger. “What’s going on?” you plead, your hand slipping from shoulder to bicep and staying there, ready to hold him in place if he tries to run from your question. “What’s up with you? I can’t tell what you want.”

 

 

 

 

> YOU ARE **DAVE STRIDER** AND YOU REALLY NEED TO ABSCOND.

But Karkat has a hand on your arm and damn do you want to pull him into your arms and just stay like that, the two of you, until all of this is gone and you can think again. You don’t. You’re pretty sure any sort of touching at this point would just end up making things worse. The problem is that he’s right: you’re an asshole that’s been leading him on in every conceivable direction for the past year, maybe longer. At first it was just fun, he’d get so worked up over the littlest thing, but now it’s… Well, it’s mean, both to him and to you. Because you can never, ever allow him to be anything more than a fellow Knight, regardless of what you may or may not feel. Bro would never stand for that, so there’s no way in hell you can.

"Nothing's up." Flippant. Dismissive. _Uncaring_. You force the corner of your lips up into a smirk, knock his hand away from your arm. "Knew you'd fall for it. You're such a sucker. I'll admit, even I didn't think you'd come running back that time, but, damn KarKitty, you don't disappoint."

You see rage unfurl in his eyes, and for a moment, you're _scared_. Really, truly scared for your life. This would definitely qualify as a Just death, and you realize you welcome the idea of ending it. You've already done half the work, turning your back on all your friends, on the problems at hand, losing yourself in soliloquies about how redundant everyone else's feelings are. Because what's the point? In all of this? You're all just going to die, anyway, Jack and English are way too strong, not to mention all the other baddies coming along for the ride. None of you have any dream selves to sacrifice, and every death would qualify as Heroic. It's pointless. And if you were to entertain the idea that maybe, just maybe, a few of you come out the other end and, by some miracle, you've managed to kill all your enemies, what then? You've got a world devoid of life to live out the rest of your immortal days on, plus the majority of your friends are now dead, so you've got to deal with that guilt, on top of the shame of survival, with a little PTSD as the frosting for this incredibly shitty cake.

You zone back in to find Karkat's just staring at you. "What?" you snap.

"Dave, I think you should start talking to Rose aga-"

"No!" you shout, pushing him fully away from you and flying back. "No!" you say again, firmer this time. "I don't need to fucking _talk_ about it! I'm _fine_ , alright?"

"Dave-"

"I'm _fine_! Dandy! Fit as a fucking fiddle! I'm-"

" **Dave**! You were talking out loud."

"Oh." You fall silent, the sound of your sneakered feet hitting the floor the only thing to break the silence that stretches on for miles between the two of you. "Well."

"Yeah. 'Oh'," Karkat grumbles, marching towards you and decidedly grabbing your wrist. You let him drag you from Can Town and through the meteor, watching his curls bounce with each stubborn step. You notice the hairs at the base of his horns seem softer, and contemplate closer inspection. Then you remember the last time you tried to touch his horns and how well _that_ debacle went. Maybe now is not the time.

"Where are we going?" you ask finally, after what feels like an eternity. You realize that, somewhere along the way, you started floating, and he's literally dragging you along like some sort of balloon. Not once has he looked back, so there's no way he could've noticed. "Hey," you taunt, "hey, Karkles. Hey. Hey, Karks. Karks. Hey. Hey, hey, hey, heyheyhey-"

" **Shut up**! We're going to my respiteblock, okay? No one will-"

"Nah, dude, look."

"Look at _what_ \- Dave, what the fuck." He's stopped dead in his tracks, staring up at you with the most unimpressed expression you have seen since... Well, probably since you first met him. "What the fuck are you doing? This is serious."

"I'm a Strider balloon. A StriLoon. I should patent that. I bet I could make a fortune. Little kids could string me up at their birthday parties, just hundreds of StriLoons watching over them, making sure they don't stab each other playing Pin The Tail On The Donkey."

"I have no idea what you're fucking talking about," Karkat groans, turning away and continuing his march. Slowly, you descend back to the floor, the horrible constricting feeling back in your chest. Of course he has no idea. Because Earth is gone.

There are no children anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

> YOUR NAME IS **DAVE STRIDER** AND YOU'RE PRETTY SURE YOU AREN'T GETTING OUT OF THIS ONE.

The door to Karkat's room clicks shut with a deafening finality, and you suppress the shiver that runs down your spine. Behind your shades, you're watching him warily, trying to gauge his next move now that he has you where he wants you. On the outside you're cool and detached, just the right amount of indifferent to keep the irritation flowing through him. You see it spill out in his steps, how his knees jerk forwards too suddenly; you see it in his hands, knuckles white against the back of a chair he pulls out too forcefully; see it in his jaw, steadily working as he chews on his tongue - a nervous tick you've begun to recognize. He also bites his cheeks, but that's typically reserved for when he gets shy and uncomfortable.

He hasn't said anything in too long. Neither have you. To break the silence you jab, "Well, Karkles, if you wanted to get me alone all you needed to do was ask."

"Fuck off, Dave."

He says it so softly, it silences you once more. You're not used to hearing him so quiet, so defeated. You're afraid that the slightest breeze will knock him over, so you stay stock still, fingers curled into a fist inside your pajama pocket. He sits slowly, as if in pain, and you find that now you're the one chewing on your tongue, biting hard to keep from saying something that might break him.

"Look," he says slowly, first sucking in a gulp of air that you take to mean this is going to be another of his long winded monologues. Back home, you were the one who was known for their extended soliloquies, but you can never seem to hold a candle to this guy. "I'm sorry, okay? We're the ones who wrecked your game, what with bringing our whole host of bullshit in. You all would've been fine if we hadn't made things worse. You would've had one enemy to face and that would be it. But now there's a whole army and who knows what else and there isn't that many of us left and we can't _help_ you like we should and I don't know how to fix this and I don't know how to fix _you_ , but I _want_ to: I want to do one good fucking thing before I die at the end of all this - because I will, you know it and I know it and everyone on this fucking rock _knows_ it - and I've fucked everything else up too much to do anything about it, but _fuck_ , Dave, why can't you just talk to me? Why does it always have to be jokes? Or an argument? Why can't we just talk without causing more problems? Because I don't want to, I really don't want to, but _damn it_ , you're not making it easy for me here! And I just-"

"Karkat."

"-just really need you, okay? I really need you to try."

You swallow hard and blink rapidly, once again glad the lighting on this rock is so bad and your shades are so firmly in place. You wait a second, making sure he's done, before you speak.

 

 

> YOUR NAME IS **KARKAT VANTAS** AND YOU'RE PRETTY SURE YOU JUST FUCKED UP. AGAIN.

"I don't know how, okay?" he says, breathing hard, face paler than it usually is -- if that's even possible. "I don't know how."

"Oh." You wet your lips, stuck under the weight of something so small, and yet so impossible to wrap your hands around. The cold steel of the door of your respiteblock sinks through your sweater into your spine, complimenting the unease in your gut. You can see it in the tendons of his neck, the shaking in his hands: something you said hit too hard, struck too deep. You press yourself more securely against the door, use it to keep yourself standing tall, guarding his only exit out of the mess you made. "I- I'm sorry, I just-"

"You can't _fix_ me, Karkat. I'm _fucked_. And it infects everything around me; don't you get that? It's already getting to you. Just like it got to Rose. To John, to- Jade. So just _stop_ , alright? You can't fix me, Karkat, but I can sure as hell break you, so just get out of my fucking way and let me go, alright? Just let-"

"No."

" _What_?"

"No." You lift your chin, feel your lip pulling back to reveal sharp incisors. "I said _no_. Just because you've given up on yourself doesn't mean I will. So fuck you, and fuck _that_. You don't ruin everything, Dave. Even if you did, you'll have to try a whole lot _fucking_ harder than that to get to me, because there isn't anything you can say that I haven't already told my fucking self! So shut the fuck up, sit the fuck down, and _just fucking tell me what's going on_. You don't have to do this shit alone! Not anymore! None of us do. This isn't Earth and it's not Alternia - no one is telling us what we can and can't do anymore. Don't you get that? _Your brother isn't here, Dave_." Your ears twitch as he sucks in a breath, sharp. You've done your homework, going over the little details he reveals to you, the small clues Rose lets drop. You know life wasn't easy for him, constantly stuck under his brother's thumb, just like you were stuck under the weight of a society designed to hate you. It's not hard to relate.

But unlike Dave, you've made the decision not to let the memories haunt you.

You can see he's stuck, wavering on the edge. You take a half step away from the door, resist the urge to reach for him. "You don't have to-"

"Shut up."

And then he's gone, flash stepping through the crack in your defenses, the door hanging wide. Your shoulders slump, and you rake your claws through tangled tresses. You'll be more prepared next time you find him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for your lovely comments! They make my entire week when I finally get the time to sit down and read them. You're all such a highlight in my life and I adore you all <3333

 

 

> YOUR NAME IS **KARKAT VANTAS** AND YOU ARE AN UNRELENTING FORCE

There's been a surprising amount of useless shit to keep you distracted from your search for Dave. Probably for the best, considering how tense he was last time. It usually takes you a few days to calm down from your moods, and you've got a suspicion he's not that different from you. Not to say you were idle. You talked to Rose and Kanaya, got their opinions on the entire ordeal - Rose was cryptic, as was expected, but Kanaya's validation of your concerns went a long way to soothing your nerves - and after some time to think and write all of your thoughts out in an orderly fashion, you're feeling much more capable.

There's one thing he said that you can't get out of your mind, though: _What then_ _?_ It's a valid question, one you've been doing your best not to examine too closely. You know, beyond a doubt, that your timeline is doomed, that there's no getting out of this one. If it wasn't, everything would've been running smoothly, and Gamzee wouldn't have gone on a killing spree. In the alpha timeline, everyone lives. In this one, almost everyone has died. So maybe the question of what to do next is irrelevant, and another of Dave's points is the one to focus on: _It's all pointless_. Because if you're going to die anyway, why try at all?

You shake your head, bring your attention back to the glow of your husktop. You used to struggle with thoughts like that a lot, but lately it's been easier to put them in a box, tuck them out of sight until you're ready. You know that time is coming up fast, that when it does get here you won't be prepared; but those are worries for another day. For now, it's all about figuring out where Dave Strider has been hiding.

**\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --**

 

 

> **CG:** HEY, STRIDER.  
>  **CG:** LOOK, I KNOW YOU DON'T WANT TO TALK TO ME. BUT YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO.  
>  **CG:** YOU CAN'T AVOID ME FOREVER.  
>  **CG:** THERE'S ONLY SO MUCH SPACE ON THIS ROCK, SO YOU MIGHT AS WELL GET IT OVER WITH. RIP OFF THE METAPHORICAL BANDAGE.

Switching to your mobile, you walk the halls as quietly as possible, ears pricked for an answering chime to your messages. Your fingers hover just above the glowing keyboard at your wrist, feet softly following the path to Can Town. You haven't seen him there in a while, but it's the most likely place he'll be. If he's not, the Mayor will likely join in your hunt. Two sets of eyes are better than one.

 

> **CG:** FINE. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO TALK, YOU CAN FUCKING LISTEN.

Almost too quiet to hear, there's a distant _blip_ that sounds a received message. Your ears twitch, head swiveling immediately towards it. _Got you_. You force yourself not to run to the next set of intersecting hallways, heart in your throat, and press _SEND_ on your next line of loud, gray text.

 

> **CG:** I'M SORRY, ALRIGHT?

The sound again, coming from the left. You've almost got him.

 

> YOUR NAME IS **DAVE STRIDER** AND YOU ARE THE IMMOVABLE OBJECT.

_I'M SORRY_ floats in front of your face in hazy gray. You've been watching the messages pop up on the lock screen of your phone one by one, eyebrows pulling closer and closer together with every chime. Blanket pulled over your head and pillows arranged in proper nest fashion, you have yet to open up pesterchum, not wanting him to know you're reading along. The latest message has you reevaluating that stance.

**\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --**

You don't write anything, just let the notification that you've entered the chatroom sit there.

 

> **CG:** FUCKING FINALLY  
>  **CG:** DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW WORRIED I'VE BEEN?  
>  **CG:** YOU JUST DISAPPEARED WITHOUT A TRACE. I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN CAN TOWN.  
>  **CG:** HAVE YOU EATEN ANYTHING?

**\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --**

This is why you didn't want to talk to him. You throw your phone aside; then wince at the clattering, harsh against your ears. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you hope it isn't broken, and know you'll beat yourself up about it later if it's cracked. You've managed to get through this entire game without getting a single scratch on it (you mentally laugh at the unintentional pun) and would hate to ruin your streak now. More alerts from below let you know that it isn't broken, and you roll away from the sound, shielding yourself from the world and locking yourself in the gentle comfort of feather pillows and winter comforters.

Then the door bursts open.

"Don't just stop talking to me when I'm worried about you! Do you have any fucking idea how mother fucking rude that is!? You inconsiderate pr- Dave?" His gravelly voice drops a dozen decibels on your name, rising on the last note to express his confusion. You resist the urge to peer out from your hiding place, knowing his expression must be priceless right now. It only takes him a couple moments to find you, though, and you sigh in frustration as his weight shifts the mattress and the small of your back settles against his thigh. The heat seeping off of him is, admittedly, rather nice, however. Space is fucking freezing.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, 'm fine."

"Dave, I can't understand a single fucking thing you're saying."

" _I'm fine_. You can leave now."

"You're not _fine_. Can you get out from there and talk to me?"

"What are you, my mother? Fuck off."

"No, I'm your fucking friend."

"Then, as my friend, kindly _fuck off_."

"No."

You hiss through your teeth, "Guess we're not friends, then." That shuts him up, but he doesn't make a move to go anywhere.

"I'm sorry," he says after a pause. "I shouldn't have pushed."

"That's _all_ you're sorry for?" You don't care about any of that, you're used to it from Rose. Karkat is, like usual, missing the entire point of your anger, further lending credit to the fact that _you are not friends and you never were_. If he was your friend, he would know what he did, he would _know_ how to _fix_ it-

"No. I'm sorry for bringing up your brother, too."

So maybe you are friends, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny to think that originally this was going to just be a smutty trashy fic and now here we are in the motherfucking trenches.

> YOUR NAME IS **DAVE STRIDER** AND YOU'RE EXHAUSTED.

"I miss him," you say after an entirely too long silence. Half a second later Karkat's fingers are hesitantly threading through your hair, tips of his claws soothing against your scalp. You close your eyes, tell your body to just relax. "Is that stupid? I mean he tormented me for years. He was barely even a brother--"

"I get it. My lucus was... Yeah. I get it."

You nod, carefully so as not to dislodge Karkat's hand, and leave it at that. You don't like talking about your Bro, have never been one for sharing. Comfortable as Karkat makes you, years of paranoia isn't about to just go away. You're still half convinced he's watching you, that somehow he made it off Earth and has cameras set up all over the meteor's hallways. If John's dad and Rose's mom made it out, it's possible your Bro did, too.

Eventually you roll over and right yourself, legs crisscrossed in front of you. Karkat's hovering on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap, one knee bobbing a mile a minute. You stare at it as you ask, "Why'd you freak out earlier? It was just a nap. Was kinda cute, actually." His ears twitch down, and he all but flinches at the word _cute_ , but you barge through with all the grace of a wounded gazelle: "It's not a big deal."

"It _is_ a big deal. Trolls can't be weak. That's how you get killed. There was-- We had twelve when we started, Dave. _Twelve_. And we killed _each other_."

 You'd forgotten about that. Maybe you should've paid more attention to the trolls' session -- not that Terezi was particularly interested in sharing the details of her life, or you inclined to investigate -- but you do dimly recall a few elusive suggestions on her part, quiet comments hidden in useless conversation. "I didn't really think about it like that, I guess," you concede. He huffs, hand stilling in your hair, but you can tell from the way his weight shifts on the mattress that he's relaxing. He's not insulted. You haven't fucked up further.

"I'm not a troll, though," you add after another silence. He tenses. You breathe. "I'm just saying, I'm not going to attack you when you're sleeping, dude. Like, it's okay. 'Cause that's not what we... do..?" Alright, now you've definitely fucked this up. Karkat's shifting and you can tell he wants to go, but you can't handle him leaving, not _now_ , not like _this_. So you roll, throw your arms around his waist, and hide your face in his hip. "It's fine, okay?!" you insist, entirely too forcefully. His hands are raised up by his head, every muscle tensed, but you're not letting go. "You can nap on me. It's cool. I'll watch out for you, okay?"

"Dave. I'm not really– Gamzee and I are still–"

"Why do you always have to bring your quadrant _bullshit_ into this?" you cry, exasperated. "Forget it. Fuck! Just go, alright? Just fucking leave me alone. I'm trying to be your fucking friend, Karkat, why the _fuck_ do you have to make it so _damn_ complicated? I'm too damn tired for your _shit_ right now."


End file.
